Beauty and the Bully
by It-is-I-a-Simple-Bagel
Summary: Dixon is paired with Miriam for a big history project, but, because of Miriam's antagonistic behavior and Dixon's red hot temper, things go bad fast. When Cassidy convinces Dixon to let her take Miriam's place, it sets off an unlikely whirlwind of events that no one would have expected. [The Cassidy Jones Series by Elise Stokes]


**This may be my first multi-chap fic for this series. This first chapter is a test run, which is why it may be longer than the others. It _is_ weird idea, no doubt about that, but maybe worth pursuing. Please read thoughtfully and provide your opinion below. ;)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1: That Girl is Strange, No Question**_

* * *

The ringing of the phone stretched for what felt like a millennia. Cassidy's cheek was already hot from being fervently pressed against the iPhone's screen. She didn't need to hold it so tightly, but her numb fingertips disagreed.

It rang again.

And again.

And again.

 _Why isn't he picking up?_ She despaired, shaking the phone; like _it_ was the reason Jared Wells wasn't taking her calls. What had she done? What had she said to him? Cassidy banged her forehead against the cold metal of her locker door.

It was Emery's as well, technically, but he was still in Home Ec; or _should_ have been. He hated the "pansy" class, as Nate dubbed it, and found numerous excuses to ditch. Most of which involving chasing down perps with minor offenses for his bounty hunter collaborators, the colorful O'Shea bunch.

As it turned out, Emery Phillips could hardly put together a decent spread, let alone cook, and had no desire to learn.

Cassidy faintly recalled a sandwich he'd made for her once, along with the nausea she'd suffered through for hours after. Only Emery could almost food-poison a mutant with a basic deli sub. The memory nearly had her smiling, until her lingering phone call finally dropped to voicemail.

" _Hey, this is Jared. I can't talk now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks."_

 _BEEP._

Cassidy resisted screeching her inquiries into the phone, instead taking a calming breath and steadying her voice.

"Hi, Jared. Um, it's Cassidy again. I was just wondering where you were, 'cause I haven't seen you at school in, uh, a few days, and I was a little worried. Um, can you call me whenever you get this? Okay. I'll… I'll talk to you later. Bye."

She hit 'end call' and let out a haggard sigh. That had sounded a lot smoother in her head. There was no helping it now. Besides, Jared was already quite aware of her awkward tendencies. It didn't mean she wanted to sound neurotic when leaving him her fifth successive message that week, but it was unlike him not to return a call within 24 hours. What if something had happened? Cassidy began to feel sick.

Leaning up against the locker once more, she inhaled and exhaled carefully; the way Emery encouraged her to do when she was on the verge of "bubbling over", as they'd begun to call it. People were milling around the hallway now, finally released from their academic cages. At least, momentarily. Fifth period was fast approaching.

It was in the midst of this milling, inhaling, and exhaling, that Cassidy's cell began to suddenly buzz in her grip. Seeing as that the sensation had not been expected, nor very common that week, she nearly dropped it to the floor. It took several awkward bounces and last-second grabs to get it, but Cassidy had no intention of missing this call. Frenziedly flipping the iPhone over and tapping her screen, a wonderful, wonderful name appeared.

 _Thank God._ She swiped the surface and watched as Jared's contact pic blew up across it. She couldn't bring it to her ear fast enough.

"HEY!" Cassidy found herself shouting, a good few decibels louder than she'd intended.

"Hi…" was the unenthused response; very quiet compared to the loudening ruckus going on around her.

"Jared?" She said, huddling closer to her locker and out of the way of other pushy students.

"It's really noisy on your end." He replied, "Where are you?"

It was a distracted answer. Something knotted in the pit of Cassidy's stomach. "I'm at _school_ , where _you're_ supposed to be." She winced, realizing that it had come out much harsher and whinier than she's meant it to.

"Yeah, I'm aware of that."

The knot expanded, twisting into something bigger. "Are you alright?" Cassidy tried to amend, rubbing her empty hand nervously down her leggings.

"I'm fine, Cassidy. Seriously."

She felt herself reddening, even though he wasn't there to witness her embarrassment. "But you haven't been answering your phone, you haven't been at school, you haven't been to my house… I think we have a right to be a little concerned."

Cassidy heard a sigh over the line, and a rustling of something. "Maybe, but you're the only one that's called me ten times over it."

She flinched at his tone. Was Jared mad at her? He never talked to her that way. She must have done something, said something that upset him. It made the most sense. She was always putting her foot in her mouth anyway. She'd done it with him before.

"Technically, I've only called you five times…" Cassidy backpedaled, not wanting to offend him further, "I was just really worried, Jared. The idea of something happening to you tears me up inside. You know that, right? At least tell me when you're coming back…" _Great,_ now she really _did_ sound desperate.

He sighed again. "No offense, Cass, but you're not my keeper. Relax."

At this point, she must have been the color of a beet. "J-Jared…" She stopped, at a loss of what to say. "Please tell me what's wrong. _Please_. What did I do? _I'm sorry_." Cassidy felt incredibly pathetic, as the waterworks were already building up behind her eyes.

"Listen…" His voice trailed off, and she felt a whole new sick feeling wash over her, as the knot in her gut wound tighter. "Cassidy, I need some space. Okay?"

"Sss…space?" She fumbled, "I- I don't understand."

"I get that. I'm sure I'm not making much sense. Just leave me alone for a while, alright? Get off my back and chill out. Nothing's wrong."

Cassidy's face drained of its redness, but the heat in her cheeks and under her eyelids did not. Why was he doing this? What had she done? "Jared…" She barely kept it from coming out as a whimper. "If you tell me what I did to you, I'll make it right. I swear. I'll make it better. I'll-"

" _No_ , Cassy," He interrupted, sounding impatient with her. "It's nothing you can fix. But, if you want this- whatever this is between us- to work out, you need to give me the space I'm asking for. Do you get it?"

She felt herself coming apart at the seams. Why was he doing this? Cassidy could barely form a coherent thought, but managed to answer, "Y-yes… I-I understand. I do." She _didn't;_ but how to _tell_ him that was out of her reach. She couldn't think clearly.

It sounded like Jared was running his fingers through his hair. His voice was weary, apologetic even, when he replied, "It's not you. I'm promise. It's me. I need time. Don't take it the wrong way. I just need time and space. I'm going to a… a retreat, just for a month or so. We'll talk after then. Okay, Cassy?"

A retreat? A _month_? Did he really need to escape her so badly? Was she that horrible? Cassidy's surroundings became blurry, when the piping hot tears finally pushed their way to freedom, pooling in her eyes and fighting to drip down her face. _No._ She _wouldn't_ cry. Not at school. Not when Jared was respectfully telling her that he didn't want her around.

"Cassy?" He repeated. Jared's exhaustion was clearer now. He couldn't handle her anymore. It was obvious. She was too much for a boyfriend to deal with. She was a mess.

 _You're stronger than this,_ she growled inwardly. _You are a mature young woman. You're too old to cry. You're too old to whine and break down over a boy- even if it's Jared._

"Alright," Cassidy pushed herself to answer, with as much false, mild-cheer she could gather. "We'll talk at the end of the month."

The breath that escaped his mouth was a relieved one. She could tell, even over the phone speaker. "Thank you, Cassidy. That's all I ask. I'll talk to you then. Promise." He told her.

She had to take in a harsh breath herself, before answering, determined not to let her voice crack into the high-pitched cry that was trying to make itself known. "Okay, Jared. Talk to you later."

"Alright. Bye, Cassy." He said it softly, carefully. Perhaps he was trying to lighten the blow.

" _Bye_." She answered with equal quietness, tilting her head to the ceiling and blinking urgently; to bind the tears back in their ducts for the day. Cassidy heard a distinct tone that told her he had hung up. The tears burned, but she finally blinked them into submission. For now.

"Who was that?" A cool, familiar voice demanded, only inches from her slouched position.

Cassidy jumped in surprise, grasping the locker door tightly; momentarily stunned that Emery had snuck up on her so suddenly. "I thought you were with Mickey." She managed dumbly, studying him with owlish eyes.

"I _was_."

His dark hair was only slightly mussed, his "I'm Sarcastic, What's Your Superpower?" t-shirt was wrinkled just right to meet the status quo, and his Nikes were in semi-decent condition. He perfectly met the standards of the average high school boy today, but that didn't mean he hadn't been out tasing gas-station robbers and stereo-stealers during fourth period.

Cassidy smiled brightly, turning immediately into their locker in hopes that her tender, pink-edged eyes would go unnoticed. "Sounds fun. Better than Spanish, with that _grouch_ , Mr. Pernas."

Emery shifted his position, moving to her other side. She couldn't hide behind the locker door anymore. His inky eyes studied her quickly, sharply, from head to toe. She really hated it when he did that. There was no secret that those eyes didn't pick apart.

"Anyway," Cassidy rambled, shoving her phone back into her bag and rummaging through loose stacks of paper for her History homework. "Who'd you serve justice to today? A cradle-robber or office pen-pilferer?"

They'd normally get into the most humorous, heated debates over who exhibited greater heroism in their crime-fighting antics. Shots would be fired when she compared _his_ to things like shopping-cart-thievery prevention. This time, however, he didn't even blink.

"You didn't answer my question."

Cassidy didn't like it when he used _that_ tone. The "I mean business and won't leave you alone until you've spilled your guts" tone. She conveniently ignored his probing and changed the subject.

" _You_ have rubble in your hair."

"Do I?" Emery responded, clearly unamused by her evasion. He then purposefully grabbed her hand that wasn't buried in the locker and wildly raked it through his dark locks, stirring up the accused specks of rubble and making himself appear recently-electrocuted in the process.

"Ugh," She complained, pulling away and noting the dusty film of sheetrock now coating her fingers. His hair had gone from acceptable-bedhead to Bride of Frankenstein in the span of seconds. Cassidy eyed it with distaste.

"What did you _do_ , exactly?" She inquired, blindly grabbing for a turquoise comb in her bag and attacking his head with it. Emery stood before her patiently as she corrected the mess he created.

"Fell through a hole in an attic. You?" He answered, maintaining alert, unyielding eye contact.

Cassidy avoided the coal-black orbs with gusto, stretching on her tiptoes to reach the top of his head. "Nothing special," She insisted, picking a dusty chunk of rock from his hair and eying it incredulously.

"Your _eyes_ ," Emery prompted.

She wrinkled her nose stubbornly and scraped the remaining debris from his scalp. "Got exfoliating cream in them. No biggie."

He gave her a tolerant smile in response. It was his scary smile, which clearly wasn't intended to convey positive, fluffy feelings. "A likely story," His eyes examined her like she was something he dissected at home. "Except, your skin, being virtually flawless, has no use for exfoliation."

Cassidy double-checked his head one last time, before chucking her spare comb back into the dark abyss of their locker. "I like the tingly feeling." She quipped back, unwilling to let him use one of his offhanded, sweetly-bizarre compliments to butter her up.

"I see," Emery answered, obviously dissatisfied with the interrogation's results. She yanked her History workbook out of her bag's outside pocket, eager to be done with the conversation for good. She couldn't dwell on Jared's words right now. She couldn't handle it.

"I have an idea of what's going on," Her friend informed her calmly, watching her with that unrelenting stare. _Of course_ he did. Emery always seemed to figure her out before anyone else, figure _things_ out before anyone else. "But I'll wait until you're ready."

Cassidy let out a tired sigh. She faced the insides of their locker unseeingly, pushing away the frustrated tears that wanted to come back up and spill over. "Thanks," She replied, ashamed that her voice finally cracked in that pitiful way she detested.

The next moment, her chin was being steered by Emery's hand, and she was forced to look at him through watery eyes. She saw his hardened countenance and the tense lock of his jaw, wondering what had upset him.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it." He added, his grip becoming gentler as he searched her pained expression. He wasn't the one who'd hurt her, but his desire to "make it better" was practically tangible.

"I… I really don't want to talk about it, Emery." Cassidy told him quietly, holding her homework and workbook closely to her chest, like a life preserver.

Emery watched her for a moment longer, before releasing her chin. "Alright, then." He quietly pulled a Civics binder from his shelf in their locker, then shut the door.

* * *

Mrs. Carrothers was a flamboyant, thirty-something year old with a flashy fashion sense and ungodly obsession with world history. And, at present, she was grinning at her 5th period class like the Joker on acid. The heavy coat of fire engine lipstick didn't help her case.

With the wild, meticulous charts, drawings, and directives on her smart board, a passerby might mistake the guidelines for a plot of world domination. Unfortunately for Mrs. Carrothers' students, it was only her impassioned criteria for the oh-so-imperative mid-year project. Worth, consequently, 35% of a student's grade.

Cassidy just didn't have the heart to care. Her attention-span was shot; the teacher's ranting flowed in one ear and out the other. Keeping Jared out of her head was proving to be more impossible than she'd imagined. Even his name made her throat tighten. Miriam made periodic, derogatory comments on Mrs. Carrothers' instructions and wardrobe choices, but Cassidy could barely hear.

"Your paper must be seven pages, double-spaced, not including your Title page and Works Cited, twelve-point, Times New Roman font, in the MLA format." Mrs. Carrothers explained, gesturing to each point on the board.

Miriam mimicked the teacher silently, her face pinching in the most unnatural, constipated ways possible. Cassidy stared at her hands.

"Put the paper in a standard binder, with a clear sleeve cover. Include at least four pictures on your topic within the paper. Find a minimum of three primary sources; at least one newspaper article or court ruling."

Miriam pretended to snore.

"And the final, most crucial part of your project," Mrs. Carrothers paused for effect; her silvery-blue eyes widening each millisecond. If she was waiting for her students to lean forward in anticipation, she would be sorely disappointed. "An _original,_ artistic piece, representing your subject, or exhibiting symbolism about one aspect of their story."

She was met with absolute silence from the class, with the exception of an extraordinarily _loud_ laugh escaping Miriam Cohen's mouth. This was promptly overlooked by their exuberant teacher, who'd written Miriam off as hopelessly boorish since the first week of school. They shared a speak-and-ignore sort of relationship. Meaning, _one_ would speak, and the _other_ would proceed to ignore it. It explained how Mrs. Carrothers kept her pleasant demeanor and sanity for so long… and how Miriam was bound for summer school. Again.

The expressions in the room must have appeared collectively dumbfounded, because Mrs. Carrothers was forced to pierce the grave silence and explain herself further.

"I know, from last month's _marvelous_ school talent show, my students have _many_ impressive artistic abilities that would be _perfect_ to exercise in this assignment!"

Judging by the heavy atmosphere of disgust, she was the _only_ one who thought so. Miriam was gasping for air, at this point.

"You may choreograph an original dance, compose a song, write a poem or short story, act out a scene, make a video, or paint or sketch a picture for the project. If you think of anything else to do, clear it with me first, but it shouldn't be an issue. And, remember, anyone that does more than one of these options will be awarded _extra credit_."

She was met with stunned silence, and somebody might have actually passed out. Cassidy didn't care to look.

"Oh," Mrs. Carrothers chuckled in her peppy, lipsticky way, "don't look so glum! Everyone will be paired with a partner to split the workload! It'll be a piece o' cake. I have no doubt!"

The entire class groaned audibly at this. Some more _ardently_ than others.

"I call Cassidy!" Miriam hollered, grabbing said person's right arm and jerking it to the sky in triumph. She waved Cassidy's hand in a queenly manner, giving the class an exultant smile as she did so.

"I somehow don't think you have much competition, Miriam." Cassidy noted tonelessly, unable to summon even the embarrassment her friend's display would normally bring.

Miriam scoffed, petting Cassidy's arm like a fluffy pet, and not a gangly limb attached to a human being. "Don't even joke. They'd go all Hunger Games up in here to be your partner. You're _bootylicious_."

Cassidy sighed, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm glad you think so, Miriam."

"I _know_ so, which is why _I_ volunteered as tribute." Her saucy comment was followed by a wink, but the effect was rather tarnished by Mrs. Carrothers' sweet little laugh, as she rested her sharp elbows against the edge of their table.

"Oh, Miriam, _sweetheart_ , I have a different partner in mind for you." The teacher smiled warmly, tucking a springy yellow curl behind her ear, as she pointed across the room. "Dixon over there _also_ happens to need a better grade in my class. I think you two will work together beautifully."

If the classroom wasn't dead-quiet before, it was now.

Cassidy watched blandly, as Mrs. Carrothers skipped away in her salmon-pink stilettos and Miriam sputtered like a suffocating goldfish. Dixon Pilchowski's reaction, however, was perhaps the most priceless. The 6-foot-3 delinquent unceremoniously ripped his History workbook in half and chucked its tattered remains across the room, in a silent blaze of fury.

"Your daddy's paying for that, Pilchowski!" The teacher sang, as she twirled back up to the smartboard and circled one last thing in bright purple.

"You have until Thursday, the 27th! No late-submissions will be accepted. So hop to it! You'll find more detailed instructions inside your desks."

The bell rang.

"I want your project outline by Friday. _Both_ of you have to have proof of participating in this part. See you tomorrow!" Their delightful teacher slid into her desk chair and yanked out her Samsung phone within moments.

Miriam turned to Cassidy in sluggish horror, as the rest of the class trampled one another to escape. The two friends stared at each other for several, painfully hushed seconds.

And- in her typical, mandatory way- Miriam broke the quiet with one conviction-filled remark:

" _Devil_ , thy name is Mrs. Carrothers."

* * *

Cassidy balanced her lunch tray in one hand, gripped her shoulder-bag in the other, and held two mechanical pencils between her teeth, as she attempted to maneuver the vast, buzzing cafeteria. Picturing the disaster that was Dixon Pilchowski and Miriam Cohen helped keep another certain situation out of her thoughts, for the time being.

She had been fortunate enough to be paired with Cheyenne Wilks, a friend of Carli's, who was neither catty nor aggressive nor dull enough to warrant any concern in the academic partnership area. Both of them happened to have a high B in Mrs. Carrothers' class, which was an accomplishment in itself. If the woman was anything, it was demanding, in terms of World History... U.S. History… even the history of a bubblegum wrapper. And, seeing that gum-chewing was a capital offense under her jurisdiction, that last one usually hit the top of the list.

The empty throbbing that weighed down Cassidy's chest was finally beginning to wane, at least temporarily, as a hefty list of mental tasks began to drown it out. She needed to get with Cheyenne; they needed to decide whose house to meet at, which days to meet, who would be doing what parts, the person to choose for their subject, what artistic option to complete… She knew Cheyenne did really nice watercolor paintings, and if they both-

" _Oops_."

Cassidy recognized the haughty voice just a split-second too late, as she found herself toppling forward when a long leg stretched out directly in front of her own. Her tray and- as a result- its contents, flew forward, rolled, and skidded to a stop ten feet away. The condition of her chef salad alone was pitiful.

The _one_ day she decided not to bring lunch from home _. The universe hates me._

She was thoroughly mortified to have missed such a predictable move; especially when she ought to have detected _his_ stench a mile away.

"Sorry, Red Hot, didn't see you there! It's almost like you were _invisible_." Chad Dunham announced in mock wonder, as he leaned over the edge of his table- the popular as snot table- and ogled her kneeling form. His loser friends and the ever-present gaggle of Remoras found this scene immensely humorous. For whatever reason, it stimulated their tiny brain cells.

 _Gimme one good reason why he shouldn't die today…_ Cassidy's growling thoughts were best expressed through hulking and smashing, but her conscience- also known as Emery Mendel Phillips- had other ideas.

 _Because you're wearing that pretty white dress and you'd never get Dunham's blood out of it._

She managed not to jump, for once, when his voice invaded her thoughts. Emery was getting better at his little party trick. Of course, he'd been practicing… she didn't want to call it "obsessively", per se, but… he had dedication, for lack of a better term. Needless to say, finding little keyholes into her head was getting easier and easier for him, much to his pleasure and her uneasiness.

 _Well, it chafes my armpits anyway, so…_ Cassidy returned silently, pushing herself to ignore Chad's blatant staring and expectancy of rebuttal, as well as his tablemates' overeager anticipation.

" _Hellooo_ ," The dipwad above her persisted, still somehow having the nerve to reach down and yank her ponytail.

Cassidy's beast demanded retribution. She shoved it down, with extreme prejudice.

 _Hold on. I'll take care of it._ Emery piped up again.

Good. _He_ was a lot less likely to grab Chad's foul tongue and use it to turn his body inside out.

Extremely proud of herself for enduring the loser with indifference (outwardly, anyway), Cassidy turned her head away and carefully began gathering the remains of her avalanched lunch. This didn't sit well with Chad the Cad.

"Red Hot, I'm _talking_ to you."

She felt something bounce off her back the next moment, which made her freeze and count to some imaginary number with ragged breaths. Glaring over her stiff shoulder, she noted the unidentified bouncing object was, in fact, a grape, and Chad was well-armed to shoot off more.

"And I'm _ignoring_ you, noodle-arms, so get over yourself." Cassidy bit out, slamming a now dented milk carton back onto her tray. "Noodle-arms" wasn't exactly comeback gold, but she knew- with her history of introducing his face to the floor- Chad's manly pride would be appropriately pricked by the reminder of his own wimpyness.

As predicted, his undeservingly attractive face reddened at the jab, and he narrowed his beady baby-blues at her. "I almost feel sorry for Phillips," Chad sneered, rolling another sour grape between his fingers. "You're so freaking _frigid_ ; no wonder he's never around to fight your battles."

"Frigid, Red Hot- make up your _mind_ , Dunham," Announced the person in question, with sufficient vexation, as he towered over the loser from behind.

Emery eyed Chad with noteworthy impatience and distaste. _Chad_ glanced over his shoulder with noteworthy _panic_ , resembling a cartoonish burglar that had just been caught by a Rottweiler, with his hand in the jewelry box. Cassidy allowed herself a tiny, satisfied smile. Her best friend's reputation preceded him.

Chad flipped around in his seat, like that would somehow give him an advantage against the boy that- unbeknownst to most people- could and _would_ chew him up, spit him out, and not think twice about it.

" _Hey_ , Emery." The coward drawled with false easiness. His _friends_ suddenly found the contents of their lunch bags highly engrossing. The Remoras, however, were greedily soaking in every detail; no doubt to relay to their Sith Master, Robin Newton, the second the next bell rang.

" _Hey_ , Chad." Emery mocked, a dark smile gracing his chiseled face. Cassidy could practically hear the Remoras sigh at his "dreaminess." Forget the fact that their Master's main squeeze was close to getting his rear-end handed to him. She busied herself with gathering her spilt salad off the ground and listened in with a keen ear.

"Technically speaking, Cassidy doesn't _need_ me to fight her battles, so I don't insult her capabilities." Emery mused, seeming to wind down from any aggression that had been so promising moments before, as he adjusted his black-framed glasses.

"Yeah, uh, she's a pretty tough chick." Chad agreed hurriedly, messing with his gelled-up hairdo in poorly concealed uneasiness.

 _A pretty tough chick, eh?_ Cassidy rolled her eyes as she picked little squares of ham off the tile. _You have no idea, sweetie._

"But," Emery let that dark grin slip out again, "sounds to me like she's not taking the bait, so _I'll_ be the chivalrous one this time around."

Before anyone could react, he lifted a Dole fruit cup over Chad Dunham's head, squeezed, and watched in silent satisfaction as the contents- in their entirety- dripped and splatted all over the jerk's carefully maintained hair and face.

Quietly beaming with pride, Cassidy noted that the fruit cup had been a part of her own lunch that took a dive across the cafeteria's walkway. Emery must have scooped it up on the way over. Noodle-arms really _did_ get his just deserts after all. She snickered at her lame joke and basked in the glory of Chad's revulsion.

"What the heck, man!?" He bellowed, jumping up and scraping red-tinted syrup and fruit chunks from his scalp in disgust. "YOU-"

"Watch yourself, Dunham," Emery warned, all pretenses of relaxation torn away. His piercing eyes narrowed on Chad's, which made the weakling visibly gulp in fear. "If I have to tell you to leave her alone again, you won't like the next thing that gets slammed over your head."

That was a very good threat, Cassidy decided. You had to admire his finesse.

The surrounding area was deathly silent, but this didn't affect Emery at all, as he turned around, looking cool and collected as always, leaving a furious, terrified Noodle boy behind him, and grabbing Cassidy's arm on his way out.

She followed obediently, carefully keeping her significantly less-full tray upright, her bag on her shoulder, and mechanical pencils in hand.

* * *

"If every girl in school wasn't in love with you before, they _are_ now." Cassidy commented, feeling more cheerful than she had all day, as she trailed after Emery to the school's sidewalk.

His lunchroom stunt had become quite a legend by the end of the day, if a bit _distorted_ ; but that was to be expected with the overactive imagination of the adolescent mind. Now it was a _full_ tray of food that had been dumped over Chad's head, complete with spaghetti, an open carton of chocolate milk, those nasty beans the lunch lady made that nobody ever ate, and a pile of pudding. And, naturally, Emery had told Chad he would _kill_ him if he ever laid hands on "his girl" again, which really didn't make sense in the surrounding context of the situation, but Cassidy gave up correcting details within thirty minutes of it becoming common knowledge.

" _Joy_." Her knight in shining armor replied, clearly exhausted by the amount of swarming he had fended off in the span of a couple hours. If his rumpled appearance was any indication, Emery had seen better days.

He might've been regretting his decision to be chivalrous _now_ , but it had brightened Cassidy's day- and gotten certain things off her mind- and, for that, she was grateful.

"You're my hero, you know that?" She teased softly, watching cars dart back and forth across the street, as she fought to keep the _other_ happenings of the day from dragging her back into the pits. There would be time for self-pity later.

Emery watched her quietly, as if sensing her warring thoughts and debating _how_ , precisely, to address them. She did her best not to cringe at his calculating expression, which meant he was doing his darnedest to pick her brain and understand exactly what the issue was.

Before Cassidy could come up with another airy diversion, a huge commotion suddenly erupted behind them, in front of the school, and a very familiar, very irate, very shrill voice could be heard over all of it. _Oh, dear._

"Listen, ya big _dummy_ , if you think even for a second that I'm gonna put up with your attitude, you can think again!" A mass of ebony curls bounded into view, as their bearer waved her thin arms madly at the large boy stalking after her.

" _Aw, Miriam_ …" Cassidy mumbled, watching the scene play out with mounting anxiety. The mass of chatty students in the courtyard parted like the Red Sea. Her friend plodded out aggressively, clearly unafraid of Dixon, who was stomping behind her like a raging bull.

"And, if you had _two_ brain cells to rub together, _you'd know_ that choosing some ancient blood-sucker to write about is _literally_ the most idiotic thing ever!" Miriam shouted, whipping around and glaring at her partner boldly. Or, foolishly, in Cassidy's humble opinion.

"If _you_ think I'm doing some stupid project on Betsy Hoss-" Dixon fumed.

"It's Betsy _Ross_ , nimrod!" Miriam shrieked back at him, putting her tight, balled fists onto her hips. "The woman who created the _American flag? Doy_!"

"I'm not doing that girly crap, _Bigmouth_ , so you can just go cry to your stupid friends, or whatever it is you're good at, and get outta my face!" The giant boy hollered, looking two straws away from socking Miriam in the head, which was what Cassidy was terrified of. Emery had scared him off once, but if Dixon wereto _truly_ lose it…

"I'd love to get out of your face! It's ugly enough to make babies _cry_."

"Not as ugly as _yours_ ," Dixon snapped back, malice dripping from his pores, "which is _probably_ why you can't get Phillips to even look at you. You're pathetic."

He might as well have punched her, if the stricken expression that immediately crossed her face was any proof. Cassidy's heart constricted at the pain in Miriam's eyes. Her friend was a notorious flirt, but it was still almost surprising that her fixed interest in Emery hadn't escaped the bully's notice.

"Shut up, Dixon." Miriam replied, though the fire in her voice and expression had clearly gone out. No one ever got the best of Miriam Cohen… yet, this time, even Cassidy could see that the jerk's announcement had trampled her spirit.

" _Why_?" Dixon dug the knife in further. It was clear he knew he'd finally found her weak spot. He intended to use it. "'Cause you know it's _true_? Face it, Bigmouth, you'll never get anyone to like you. You're obnoxious and stupid. You freak everybody out and even _I_ could tell you that Phillips can't stand you. Give it up already."

Miriam's face whitened with every word. The burning hate in her stare was only rivaled by the hate in Dixon's. The crowd around them shuffled uncomfortably.

"At least _my momma_ didn't run out on me and my dad for some _college kid_ ," was her low, venomous reply.

The shocked silence permeating the atmosphere was palpable. The blood even drained from Cassidy's face, yards away. Most people at Queen Anne High were aware of Mrs. Pilchowski's scandalous affairs; most notably and recently, the one with their Principal's nineteen year old son, Andy. Despite this, _no one_ ever, ever, ever spoke of it in school… at the risk of their gossip reaching her volatile son's ears. It was a pure death wish; _insanity._

But this was Miriam Cohen. Insanity was in the description, and an absolute _given_ when she was pissed.

Dixon's dark eyes narrowed to slits, as his jaw locked and his nostrils flared. Cassidy could see the whiteness of his knuckles from her distance. His absolute fury could be detected even without seeing him. He radiated rage. She'd seen that look before. It was the one that guaranteed a pummeling and imminent public humiliation for some hapless victim. But this time, it wasn't a boy. Panic quickly welled in Cassidy's chest. She saw Emery step forward from the corner of her eye, ready to be the selfless intercessor once again, but she beat him to it.

Cassidy wanted to crush Dixon for hurting Miriam, but she knew that if something wasn't done- peaceably- he would do a lot more than hurt her feelings. She couldn't allow that to happen. Before Dixon could make a grab for Miriam's throat, which was exactly what it looked like he was ready to do, Cassidy skidded through the crowd to them; much faster than Emery would have sanctioned, but not fast enough to cause anyone whiplash, or question her overall ordinary-ness.

Unfortunately, she miscalculated her stopping point by a bit, ending up with a face-full of Dixon Pilchowski's t-shirt, rather than a respectful distance of two or three feet away. Cassidy noted that he did not smell nearly as toxic as she imagined, but rather more like oatmeal raisin cookies. This, of course, was only observed milliseconds before she threw herself back in unadulterated mortification.

" _I'm sorry! I'm sorry!_ " She found herself squeaking, terrified; which was fairly ridiculous, considering Dixon was about as threatening to her as a roly-poly. But, old habits die hard.

This invasion of his personal space seemed to surprise Dixon just as much, because it took the bully a good seven seconds to register that the tiny thing that had slammed into his abdomen was actually person, and not a close range missile. It only took two more seconds for him to realize who she was and _why_ she was interfering.

"Get lost, Jones. This _doesn't_ concern you." Dixon warned, wariness somewhat replacing his ferocity. It had become, more or less, a universally accepted truth at Queen Anne that, wherever Cassidy Jones be, Emery Phillips was not far behind. And, considering his less than chummy history with Emery, Dixon was not eager to risk invoking his wrath once again. This knowledge gave Cassidy the confidence to dig in her heels and wait him out.

"I want to be your partner!" She blurted out, automatically feeling like a moron for leading with that clever statement. "You know, for the project." She decided to add, like he somehow needed reminding. _Brilliant._

This was obviously the last thing Dixon had been expecting from her, if his blank expression was any hint. "What?"

"I…" Cassidy suddenly felt the dozens of eyes on her, and her self-consciousness fought against the emboldened stance she was trying to maintain. "I'll be your partner... instead of Miriam. She can't stand history! Plus, she's a huge procrastinator and really forgetful-"

"Hey!" Miriam protested, finally regaining her bearings behind Cassidy, "I take offense at-"

Cassidy promptly stomped her mouthy friend's toes and interjected, "And we can do whatever-"

"What makes you think I _give a crap_ about that lame project in the first place? I just want Bigmouth to shut her stupid face, once and for all. She doesn't know _anything_." Dixon boomed, ignoring the both of them and sneering menacingly over Cassidy's shoulder, looking ready to chuck her out of the way and finish the job.

"She's sorry!" Cassidy exclaimed, doing her best to totally block Miriam from his sight. "Aren't you, Mir? She didn't _mean_ those things-"

"I most certainly _did!_ I am not apologizing!"Her brash friend argued, further igniting Dixon's evident anger. "Didn't you hear what he _said_ to me? That idiot wouldn't know-"

"APOLOGIZE, MIRIAM." Cassidy barked; her patience had run out. Everyone went silent after _that_. Peering over her shoulder, Cassidy saw Miriam's wide eyes and tight mouth. The girl appeared stunned. She wasn't the only one. Their audience watched Cassidy like they'd never seen her before. Granted, she'd never used such an authoritative tone with anyone at school. Her mutant-y personality was breaking through more and more these days.

" _Apologize_." She reiterated, attempting to sound gentler than before. The last thing she wanted was her friends thinking she was a brute, too.

"S…sorry…" Miriam mumbled, almost inaudibly. It was clear she hadn't recovered from her astonishment. Now that she thought about it, Cassidy couldn't recall a time she'd ever truly shouted at Miriam. She'd always given in to her every whim.

Slowly bringing her eyes back to Dixon's, Cassidy could see even his surprise, which was quickly replaced with a too-smug smirk and taunting eyes. " _Dang_. Never thought there'd be anyone who could shut _you_ up, Bigmouth. It's a miracle."

Cassidy could feel Miriam's aggression wind back up, even without seeing her face, and she quickly interceded- "If you do the project with me, you won't have to hear her at all." She raised her eyebrows pointedly.

Dixon seemed momentarily confused by the abrupt change in subject, but adapted quickly. "This again?" He grumbled, "When are _you_ going to realize I don't give a-"

"I'll do all the bookwork." She interjected, forcing herself not to back down. Confrontation had never been her strong suit, but she had no excuse to shy away from anything now. She had no reason to be afraid. "We can do the subject on whatever you want. You don't have to do any of the parts you don't want to."

Now, he seemed interested; perplexed, too. "And _why_ would you wanna do that? What do you _really_ want, Jones?" Suspicion raked every syllable.

Cassidy stood tall and confident, refusing to break eye contact. "I want you to stay away from Miriam. Don't bother her. Don't harass her. Don't even look at her funny. Got it?"

Dixon laughed in her face, spittle soaring through the air. "Makin' _demands_ now, are we? Who do you even think you are, shrimp?"

 _I am not afraid of him. I am not afraid._

"I'm _your_ ticket outta repeating this class, _Pilchowski_." She answered him tartly, her eyes hard and unblinking. "If I get us a 100- plus extra credit- on this project, you probably won't fail. 35% of our grade, _remember_? You'll never have to enter Mrs. Carrothers' classroom again."

"What are _doing_ , Cassidy?" Miriam hissed in her ear, sounding outraged. "He'll treat you like his personal slave! He won't _do_ anything!"

Cassidy ignored her friend's protests, unwilling to lose this little staring contest between herself and Dixon. He was contemplating her words. She _knew_ she had him, but she kept going, determined to seal the deal.

"It'll be the easiest A you've ever gotten." _Probably the only one,_ she admitted inwardly, but saw no need to offend him so close to the finish line.

"What makes you so sure we'll get an A?" Dixon challenged, crossing his arms. Typical bully intimidation tactic.

Cassidy eyed him squarely. "Well, I've been told I'm a pretty good writer."

It was true. She'd won the school award back in February, for a poem she'd written for Black History Month. Before that, she'd gotten the highest writing score in her grade during end-of-year testing. Her teachers had embarrassed her to no end with their excitement. Even Dixon would be aware of this.

She could tell he'd made up his mind by the way he grinned; an amused, selfish sort of grin, that guaranteed he thought he wouldn't have to lift a finger all month. Maybe he wouldn't; but then, he wouldn't be lifting that finger against Miriam either, which was something to consider.

"You got a deal, shrimp." Dixon announced, popping his right hand out and giving hers a mocking little shake. Cassidy hadn't realized how gigantic his hands were. She could practically feel the handshake up to her elbow. It took a moment to remember that she _could_ , in fact, crush this hand like an eggshell. That made her smile.

She returned his shake with more than a little pressure, which clearly startled the behemoth. "Looking forward to _working_ with ya," She returned, with a big ol' crazy grin.

 _We'll see who the real shrimp is._

Yet, part of Cassidy still had to wonder if she'd just made enormous, colossal mistake.

* * *

 **Well, interesting enough, no? I'd love to hear your thoughts in comment box below. Thanks for reading.**


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